


There's A Hole In My Soul I  Can't Fill It (Can You Fill It?)

by HockeyShit



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, This was supposed to be fluffy but it isn't, if you built your boyfriend's funeral pyre only to find out he was alive, it's kinda angsty but then, you'd be kinda angsty too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HockeyShit/pseuds/HockeyShit
Summary: “You sleep on your back, gods, why do you sleep on your back?”Seeing Jon lie on his back sends Tormund back to the night he saw Jon lying dead on a table at Castle Black. This time they talk about it.





	There's A Hole In My Soul I  Can't Fill It (Can You Fill It?)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write soft guys being in love for like, two weeks. Unfortunately, this is not that, but it has a happy ending, kinda.  
> Title from Bastille's "Flaws"

      Tormund knew Jon was alive. There was no reason for anything else to have been true. Nothing had happened, it had been a boring day, and Jon’s wolf was laying there asleep at the foot of the furs. But still, seeing Jon laying on his back sent Tormund back to the night he saw Jon lying dead on a table at Castle Black. 

\--- 

      They outnumbered the Crows two or three to one, and they had Wun Wun, there was nothing for the nights watch to do but stand down. Tormund’s first instinct was to go straight to where Jon was, to see that he was actually dead, but he wasn’t sure where that was. He hadn’t spent enough time in Castle Back to find his way around. The Crow that had called the Free Folk to protect Jon in death walked briskly up some steps, Tormund followed, he didn’t know where else to go.

      When Tormund entered the room the first thing he saw was Jon. He wanted to reach out and touch where the blood had pooled on Jon’s chest and stomach, instead he just looked at the others in the room. 

      “I will get my men to gather wood. The body is to burn.” Tormund wasn’t sure if they knew why this was important. If they would even let him do what he wished with Jon’s body. But if he had his say he would take Jon north of the wall. Jon could burn where Ygritte had burned, where, if he died while there were still people to make decisions Tormund would burn too. They could let Jon’s wolf run free where he belonged. Jon had talked about how his family had the blood of the first men, Tormund always thought Jon was more wildling than not, it made sense that he should burn north of the wall. 

      Tormund didn’t gather any men, he walked through the gate alone and started collecting wood. He fell trees on his own, stacking them up as he went. He took his anger out on the trees, imagined they were those men’s heads, the ones who had killed Jon. Tormund hadn’t counted all the stab wounds, but there were a lot, too much pain, not enough mercy. It must have been an awful way to go. If he killed them they wouldn’t get any of the mercy they should have shown Jon. 

      Tormund knew he cried, he could feel the tears run hot down his cheek, and freeze in his beard, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. He had a job to do, felling trees and stacking them for a pyre was the only thing keeping him grounded. It was all he could do. 

\---

      Tormund approached Jon’s body slowly. He could let his guard down when he saw Jon’s chest rise and fall. He sat down gently at the edge of the furs and put his hand over the top of Jon’s chest feeling Jon take in the breaths.  Slowly Jon’s eyes fluttered open, a smile appeared on his lips and Tormund let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Jon was alive, Jon was okay. Jon was here. 

      “Tormund.” Jon brought his hand up to cover Tormund’s on his chest. Jon’s voice was raspy with sleep a sort of raspy that Tormund might have found attractive before he lived to see Jon wake up just to know he was okay. 

      “My pretty crow.” Jon smiled even more at that, slowly waking up. Tormund brought his other hand up to push some of Jon’s hair out of his face. He needed to cut his hair, Tormund liked it long, but it was getting too unruly. Too much hair, no matter how pretty, could get in the way too easily. 

      “You always do this. You always wake me up with a hand on my chest like this.” Tormund frowned at that and tried to take his hand away but Jon held it down ran a thumb across the back of Tormund’s hand. 

      “I didn’t mean to wake you.” It was true, Tormund often woke Jon up when he came to bed after Jon had fallen asleep, or when Tormund woke up first. He needed to know Jon was alive, that he was breathing. He always felt better when Jon was awake, that was true as well, but he didn’t ever mean to wake Jon up, not really.

      “Why do you do it?” Tormund wanted to act like he didn’t know what Jon was asking. He wanted to pretend like he didn’t have an answer. Jon didn’t like talking about his death, Tormund didn’t like it either, still, Jon asked. 

      “When I saw you dead, on that table, I wanted to touch you, I couldn’t count how many wounds there were. I walked out of that room and your chest was still. After I built your funeral pyre I walked back in that room and I could see all the wounds, there were so many, but your chest was rising and falling.” Tormund pushed down on Jon’s chest just a little, to emphasize the point. Jon looked shocked as if he hadn’t considered how his death would have effected Tormund. He moved to grab on to Tormund’s arm, anchoring himself to the larger man. 

      “You sleep on your back, gods, why do you sleep on your back?” Tormund pushed harder on Jon’s chest, feeling the resistance, Jon’s heartbeat, the way it was harder for Jon to take in breaths with Tormund pushing down on his chest. 

      Jon didn’t say anything in reply, there were tears in his eyes, Tormund wasn’t sure if it was from the pain of the memories, or from Tormund pushing down on his chest. But still, he didn’t let up, feeling Jon so  _ alive _ under him felt good, Jon didn’t stop him either, held eye contact with Tormund, took breaths as best as he could. 

      “No matter where we are, the first thing I see when you are asleep is that night when I saw you dead. You better not die again on me Jon, I can’t handle seeing you dead again. You have to outlive me this time Snow.” Tormund pushed even harder but only for a minute and then pulled back, letting his hand just rest on Jon’s chest.

      Jon blinked and a tear fell, he moved to wipe it away but Tormund caught Jon’s hand with the hand that was in Jon’s hair, then moved to wipe the tear away. That got Jon to close his eyes tight, his breathing got ragged, and when he opened his eyes more tears fell. Tormund wiped those away as well. 

      “Promise me, Jon.” 

      “I can’t promise you that.” the raspiness of sleep was gone from Jon’s voice, replaced with desperation. Jon’s eyes had gone sharp, trying to plead with Tormund. The wind hit the sides of the tent howling around them. Tormund shook his head and leaned down to kiss Jon’s forehead. 

      “It won’t matter, we’ll all die soon. If we don’t get killed by Ramsey’s army, the white walkers will get us.” Tormund pushed Jon over so there was room for him to get into the bed as well. Jon dying had made them reckless, at least that’s what Jon said, Tormund didn’t see the problem, and he couldn't bring himself to care. 

      “Don’t say that.” Jon finally turned off his back and into Tormund’s chest, Tormund took the opportunity to hold Jon tight against him. To feel the warmth of life radiating Jon. “Don’t say that we have to fight.” 

      “Aye, and we will.” Tormund tangled a hand in Jon’s hair, keeping him close. “We’ll fight, we won’t win.” Jon shook his head, his hair tugging a bit where it was twisted around Tormund’s hand but he didn’t say anything, letting Tormund hold him close. 

      It didn’t take long for Jon to fall back asleep after that. His breathing evened out, he slumped against Tormund more the hand that was fisted in the front of Tormund’s tunic had loosened and was slipping. Tormund moved so he was lying on his back, Jon laying on top of him. Jon’s eyes fluttered open for just a moment before Tormund whispered at him to go back to sleep. 

      Having Jon against him like this, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that he could hear, feel, and see Jon’s breathing, gave Tormund enough peace of mind to fall asleep. He dreamt of days trecking through the Northern Wilderness, a pretty boy in black by his side. 


End file.
